


Drowning

by dugindeep (hotsauce)



Category: CW Network RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Dubious Consent, M/M, Older Jared, Summer, Underage Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-18
Updated: 2015-03-18
Packaged: 2018-03-18 08:20:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3562784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotsauce/pseuds/dugindeep
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jensen goes shopping for swimwear and gets a whole lot more from the shop's owner.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Drowning

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings:** dubcon, age gap (Jensen's 16; Jared's 30), predatory actions, all ends up okay
> 
>  **Notes:** Written for 2015 [SPN Masquerade](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/) prompt: _Sixteen year old Jensen goes shopping without his parents for the very first time. He desperately needs new swimming trunks for his stay at summer camp. He ends up in Jared's shop, who is willing to help Jensen choose the right trunks._
> 
> Originally posted [here](http://spn-masquerade.livejournal.com/4214.html?thread=732022#t732022).

Jensen's mom always bought him swimming trunks, and they were just that ... trunks. Something big and heavy and boxy. But now Jensen is 16, he's a man, or something almost like it. Firmly teenaged, he figures he can finally worm his way out from beneath his mother's overbearing thumb and buy his own damn swimming trunks ... no, board shorts. Yes, that's exactly what he'll be purchasing for himself now that he passes JP's Boards & More on the boardwalk.

His worn-out flip-flops make him skid on the dusty dock when he has to shuffle a few feet back to enter the surf shop, bell ringing loudly overhead. Then he comes to a complete stop at the bright flashes of colors all across the store – walls painted the blue of the ocean, signs bursting with neon orange and green to declare new inventory and sales too good to resist. On the far back wall, much farther back than Jensen had assumed the shop went, water skis and surfboards are put up on the wall, and a few jet skis are kept in the nearby corner.

In between the water sports gear and the door, a dozen or so clothing racks invade Jensen’s mind. Any and every color under the sun, there’s a rainbow of bikinis, one-pieces, wet suits, shorts, whatever one could need for this tourist town with sandy beaches and long stretches of water.

Jensen steps between a few racks, lets his hands trace over hangers of wide-legged trunks like his dad still wears … like the bright red ones in the back of his closet back at the beach house. His shoulders set straight and he imagines a pair of navy blue board shorts with looping white laces tied up the front. Or maybe something with color down the sides, like the ones he picks up off the rack: all black, except for the bright red floral pattern up the sides. 

He holds the pair in front of his waist, sees them dangle down to his knees, like all the other boys—guys his age—on the beach are wearing. He slightly nods to himself then thinks about all the bare chests he’s seen out at the lake, how he’ll have to take his shirt off, too, and become one of the crowd. That maybe, for the first time, finally, one of those college guys hanging by the lifeguard stand will actually look his way. Not that he'd do anything about it. Not in public anyway. 

Immediately, like any 16-year-old, Jensen’s put on high alert as a thrill rumbles through his body, as his dick wiggles and makes itself known.

Jensen looks up in alarm and sees a guy behind the counter working the register to ring up a slim redhead with curves Jensen has never appreciated. Her tank top is tight and rolled up to show off tight, golden skin, and her shorts barely cover the bulk of her ass.

“Darlin’, I promise you,” the guy says while holding up a thin two-piece. "These ties will stay tied. If not, come see me for an adjustment.”

The man winks, and the perky-breasted red-head purses her lips into something that isn’t quite a grin yet not a grimace.

Jensen imagines adjusting himself as well, but instead stares at the lady just ten feet away. He thinks about the hint of cleavage at the top of her shirt or the sneak of asscheeks hanging out from her jean shorts. It does the trick and his body cools down at the thought of breasts being just a mass of weird skin smashed between clammy hands. Gross, he whispers, gathering their attention.

The woman offers Jensen a tiny, tense smile on her way out the door, and the guy behind the counter shrugs with a casual, “Chicks, man.”

Jensen isn’t sure at all what the guy means by that, can’t even remember how it’s said because he’s now he’s all-consumed with the length of the guy’s body, the stretch of his firm chest beneath a loose tank that moves as he does, showing off caramel skin, not a tan line in sight. The man’s hair is long and loose, held back from his face by sunglasses settled on his head and showing off the sharp angles of his jaw, the bright pink of his cheeks and lips.

His shoulders are bulky in a way Jensen can never imagine getting. They prove that this guy spends his time building muscle to look good, which he absolutely does, especially when he leans onto the counter with his forearms pressing on the glass.

Jensen squeezes his thighs together as the space between them burns. Sweat breaks out on his upper lip and probably on his forehead, chest, and anywhere else that is visible. He’s thankful he still has those black board shorts in front of him to cover what is quickly growing in his own pants.

“What can I help you with?” the guy asks with cheer in his voice. He casually sets a toothpick into the side of his mouth.

Groaning, Jensen clenches his eyes shut and counts to ten. When he opens his eyes, the guy is standing right in front of him, considering Jensen from the waist on down. “Oh, God, I’m sorry,” Jensen whines, quickly crossing one ankle over the other.

“Dude, it’s cool. You should totally check out the merchandise if you’re gonna buy, right?” He reaches for the board shorts and holds them up by the hanger. The toothpick remains slung at the corner of his lips, accentuating the tiny dimple starting to form as he smiles. “I know these are the big thing. Every douche with a hard-on for Schlitz is wearing them out on the sand, but I think we can do you something better.”

Before Jensen can get a grip on himself, JP – the shop’s owner, the guy has announced in between scatter-brained declarations about all the cliques out on the beach – is slipping through all the racks and grabbing what is a seemingly-random array of choices for Jensen to consider.

“Dressing room’s all the way back here. Nothing like trying these things on and getting a good fit for your boys, am I right?”

JP winks at him and toggles the toothpick in his mouth, and Jensen has remained stock-still back near the entrance, not bothering to move an inch while JP has shopped for him.

“C’mon now, we all are friends here.”

“We all?” Jensen asks with a crack in his voice.

“Well, just you and me, but you’re in good company.”

Jensen swallows down the tension building in his throat, making him completely silent. Then JP winks at him with a mellow, deep _trust me_ , and Jensen’s stomach swirls. 

He finally gets his feet moving to the far end of the store, coming to a stop at the dressing room’s bright green door and JP holding it open while taking up most of the doorway. The inside of the dressing area is also bright green with leis hanging from a spot higher than Jensen can reach right now. He figures JP could stretch that high. As if testing that theory, Jensen takes a long look from JP's knees poking out of ragged jeans all the way up his waist with a canvas belt holding his tank in, and up and up and up until Jensen can see the sheen of sweat building in the dip of JP’s neck, and higher yet until his sight reaches the tip-top of JP’s sunglasses.

“Decorated it yourself?” Jensen asks, at a loss for any other words.

JP watches Jensen for a few quiet moments, pulls the toothpick out, then stretches his arm out across the top of the dressing room door, emphasizing his height and reach. Not to mention making Jensen’s groin flare with nerves and interest. “Yeah, I did. You like it?” After a beat, JP glances out into the area. “Cool shop, right? I’ve had it about fifteen years, ever since I fell in love with this town.”

Jensen gulps at the thought of JP being so much older. “You’ve been here fifteen years?”

“Near-abouts that since my mom and stepdad started bringing me here. At first, it was just Boards & More and I ran stock, but soon enough, Morgan left the shop to me and I added the JP.”

“That’s a cool name,” Jensen says as lamely as possible before he can stop himself.

“What about you, kid?” JP asks, eyes slowly roving over Jensen’s face, the look in his eyes growing intense the longer the pause between them lasts.

Jensen shuffles in place, cowers a little inwards then forces himself to stand up straight. “What about me?”

JP tucks the toothpick back into his mouth, holding it tight in one corner while his lips flare open in a crooked smile. “What’s your name?”

Something pings inside and he remembers being six years old and his mama telling him to never talk to strangers, never give them personal information, and never go anywhere with them. At sixteen, he thinks it’s the stupidest goddamn memory to recall at this moment, but there’s something heavy in the air, making it thick and warm all around him, and he kind of thinks maybe this is trouble in a hand basket, waiting to carry him to hell. After all, he’s letting this older guy drag him into the back corner of an otherwise-empty store, and being asked things most shop workers don’t bother going for.

“Jensen,” he replies anyway.

JP grins and holds out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jensen.” He even turns his hand up to encourage Jensen to shake it, which he finally does. JP’s fingers curl around Jensen’s entire hand. Palms press tightly together with a slight moisture forcing a vacuum of their skin, and JP lightly presses his fingernails into the meat at the side of Jensen’s hand.

 _It’s just a handshake_ , Jensen tells himself, but he feels a deep undercurrent of something darker brewing within. Thinks maybe it’s firing right from JP himself, that their handshake is forcing something onto Jensen that he imagines at night, but never lives in the daylight.

“Let’s get you outta those clothes and into some bitchin’ shorts,” JP insists as he ushers Jensen inside. Thankfully, he remains on the other side of the invisible threshold, even as he slides the collection of shorts onto the rack just to Jensen’s left.

Jensen turns the other way, but the mirror tells him everything, like the way that JP is watching his body isn’t quite right for someone that much older than him … yet Jensen can’t do more than press his legs together and focus on the muscle strain in doing so, all in an effort to avoid popping a boner right here.

“You good then?”

He looks over his shoulder to JP, now innocently smiling, but still chewing on that toothpick. “That’s it?” he asks, cursing himself for being so stupid to ask. As if there was anything else left to do at this point.

“Well, I’m not about to watch you change in here … unless you want me to.”

JP winks for the second time, but there’s more intent to it than the last time, and Jensen feels his knees liquefy. “I think I’m good,” he manages to squeak out. Seconds later, the door is closed, but not providing much privacy as it really only covers from the middle of Jensen’s face down to his knees. Still, he turns to the mirror, ashamed at the high flush on his cheeks and the way he’s nervously biting at his bottom lip, making it all fat and raw.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he quietly chants to himself as he drops his khaki shorts and slips out of his Chuck Taylors to get his shorts completely off. Now pissed off at the stupid teenage parts of his body that can’t control themselves, he yanks the first pair of board shorts off the hanger and tugs them into place. He’s beginning to tie the laces when a knock at the door makes him squeak in surprise.

“You good there, Jen?” JP asks.

In the mirror, Jensen can see JP leaning against the other side of the door, yet not looking in. That gives Jensen the chance to take long breaths to calm himself down, will his dick into some order of relaxation, and actually consider the shorts he’s trying on. “Yeah, I think.”

And _think_ is the operative term, because he hadn’t before realized that JP had snagged a pair of hot-pink shorts with white seashells all over.

JP now looks over the top of the door to judge Jensen for himself, eyes running up and down Jensen’s body in a way that says he’s doing more than judging the clothes. “I think it all looks pretty good.”

“Thanks,” Jensen murmurs with heat prickling his cheeks.

“But you don’t, huh?” JP laughs and points towards Jensen’s waist, leaving his arm to dangle over the side of the door. “Is it the seashells? Or the color? Maybe the fit?”

Jensen glances down to re-inspect the shorts and realizes that they’re a bit snug in the groin and now his dick is slowly filling in what space is left. He shifts around to the mirror, yet still meets JP’s eyes in the reflection. “I’ll try on some other ones,” Jensen insists, as if that will change the tone.

Where Jensen figures JP will turn away and let the tension between them die down, something else happens: JP’s tongue comes out to play with the toothpick, make it wiggle between his lips. His voice is dark, rugged, yet quiet when he says, “Whatever you want, kid.”

Once he’s alone again, he rips off the offending pink board shorts and grabs a pair of sea green ones with white ties and just a few light accents in thick stitching at the knees and thighs. The fit is better than the last pair, along with the color, and he’s happy to tie up the strings while holding his shirt up under his chin to give him space to maneuver the knot. He stands up straight, shrugs his shoulders out, and lightly smiles at himself because this pair is more doable for him. The green is bold without being obnoxious, and the lack of pattern fits him better than any other décor he’s seen here thus far.

He sighs with the comfort of finding something he likes, and then holds his breath when he sees JP standing at the door watching him. Jensen doesn’t move, can’t, just holds JP’s stare in the mirror. He licks his lower lip then sucks it into his mouth, nervously chewing at the raw skin as a hundred different variations of _leave this place_ run through his mind.

Instead, he stands still, refuses to budge, not even when JP finagles the thin latch from the outside and lets himself in. Definitely not when JP steps in behind Jensen and intently watches Jensen’s skin prickle over with goose bumps, how some areas go pink with anxiety. He leans close to Jensen’s back, body heat radiating out of each pore, warming every inch of Jensen’s body, sending shivers up Jensen’s arms.

JP sets his hands over those heated-up biceps, looks at Jensen in the mirror. “What do you think about these?”

“I think I like them,” he says near robotically.

“Yeah, they look real good.” JP runs his hands down Jensen’s skin, fingers dancing over the delicateness of Jensen’s wrists until they grab holds of the shorts, pulling at the outside seams. “They seem to fit well through the thighs, gives you some room when you gotta move or stretch."

Jensen holds his breath, hoping the mood is finally turning back to innocence and something more helpful for him to make a purchase.

JP leans to the side and tugs at the bottom of the shorts where they fall just below Jensen’s knees. “And the length is nice. Not too long, not too short.”

“Mmmhmm.”

“What do you think about it in here?” he asks as he slips his fingers beneath the hem of Jensen’s shirt and taps his fingers at the shorts’ waistband. “Wide enough for you? Keeping you in place?”

Jensen’s heart beats at double its resting rate. He can feel it thump in his throat, blood pulsing through his body, humming low beneath the skin, going now triple time as the pads of JP’s fingers touch the flat of Jensen’s stomach.

“What do you think, Jen?” JP whispers, tipping his head and boring a warm gaze right into Jensen via the mirror. “You like ‘em?”

“Yeah,” Jensen breathes out.

JP’s fingers press a little harder, burn into Jensen’s skin like a flare. “You want ‘em?”

Jensen closes his eyes and breathes through the small ring of his lips. He looks up at the mirror again when JP’s head leans into the side of Jensen’s, nose sliding along the short tufts of Jensen’s sun-bleached blond hair just above his ear. 

"You smell sweet," JP murmurs with his fingers sliding down to the dip of Jensen's hips. 

Jensen clears his throat, hears little beyond the soft breathy words and the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears. "Sweet?"

"Yeah," he replies with a wistful smile, "like summer and the sea and youth."

None of those things register with Jensen. He only smells the salt of his own sweat building everywhere, the heady musk of whatever cologne JP is wearing. 

"You're real pretty, you know that, Jen?"

He wants to complain that no one calls him Jen, has only let JP get away with it because he's been too anxious to say much at all. He remains silent, though, and watches the shift in his shirt when JP's fingers slide a little lower, slip just beneath the waist of the board shorts. 

"Are you nervous?" He sneaks in a quick tickle at the underside of Jensen's hipbone then smirks in the mirror. "Ticklish?"

Jensen still can't speak up, can't will himself to move. 

"I promise it's not a big deal." He shifts forward and now is lightly pressed up against Jensen's back. The slight bulge in his pants presses at the top of the crest of Jensen's ass; he thinks about definitely avoiding that but JP still keeps his attention in the mirror. 

Jensen thinks it’s a big deal. He thinks it’s a _very big deal_ with a _very large man_ hovering over him, as if he’s about to engulf all of Jensen into him, tuck Jensen up into a little ball and do … whatever with him. 

Somehow, though, JP’s small smile eases Jensen’s worries for about two seconds, until JP’s hands go to the shorts’ laces. “Let’s get you out of these and I can ring you right up.”

There’s nothing that says JP’s intent is to make a sale, especially not when he slowly—so very slowly—draws the string out of its bow and slides his fingers beneath the white crisscrosses to loosen up the ties. His fingers also slip ever-so-carefully over the head of Jensen’s dick.

Jensen shivers with a whimper, coughs to cover up the noise, then tightly closes his eyes as if that will let him escape the embarrassment of freaking out over a super-hot guy touching him exactly where he’s been dying to be touched by a hand that’s not his own. He knows his dick is hard as a rock, he knows that the board shorts are now piled at his feet, and he most definitely knows that JP hasn’t moved back an inch. And probably won’t; that wall of heat behind Jensen grows exponentially when JP leans in a bit closer, when fingers dance over Jensen’s upper thighs until they’re touching what are Jensen’s very-embarrassing pair of tighty whities.

JP huffs a laugh against Jensen’s ear. “Haven’t seen these since I was a youngin’ myself. But I did always like how snug they were …” JP inches closer, presses his entire front along Jensen’s back. “I always liked seeing how big my dick looked when it was totally trapped in bright white cotton.”

 _God_. Jensen curls his hands into little fists, nails digging into his palms.

JP’s hands run over Jensen’s hips then narrow down towards his dick. His fingers pyramid around Jensen’s bulge, but never quite touch, even as they tuck in against the fabric to pull Jensen back, flush against JP’s body. 

“What are you doing?” Jensen whispers, even as he knows exactly what is being done to him. He’s being stretched out, end from end, teased within an inch of his life. Nerves crackle with life and yet dread, and worry blankets him, makes his joints stiffen because he knows he shouldn’t be doing this … but he so very much wants to.

JP slides his nose behind Jensen’s ear and inhales deeply, ruts forward just enough to show how large his own dick is growing. “I’ll do anything you want me to.”

This is the crossroads, Jensen knows, between him crashing head-first into mile-high waves and becoming a man, versus tucking tail and running from something that is equally frightening and thrilling.

Quietly, as quietly as humanly possible so he can pretend he never said it if JP doesn’t hear it, he asks, “What do you want to do?”

JP slowly shifts his right hand to cover the entirety of Jensen’s groin, a solid, warm weight holding close. “I’d _love_ to see your teenage cock in my big hand.”

Jensen’s dick squirts precome and, for a second, he wants to cry. He thinks he’s already done just from the one touch and one sentence, but he also realizes he’s been dying to jerk off since he first laid eyes on JP. 

With a soft chuckle, JP tucks his hand a little tighter and sneaks his other hand up Jensen’s shirt, across his chest, and wraps his fingers around Jensen’s ribs. He holds Jensen entirely trapped, and yet it feels more like being wrapped up in a heated blanket on a cold night, strangely warm and comfortable despite the high temps outside.

When Jensen doesn’t answer, JP takes things to the next step. He pulls at the waistband of Jensen’s underwear and brings it down below Jensen’s balls, which are filling up and growing heavy with every second tacked onto this event. Then JP wraps his monstrous hand around Jensen’s small, slim, teenaged dick and takes a few casual strokes.

Jensen loudly whimpers and shudders, opens his eyes to find JP watching him in the mirror with wide, dark eyes. He can’t decide which he’d rather be all-consumed with—JP’s steady, heated gaze, or the image of the man’s large fist running over the head of his dick. Jensen chooses the latter, and finds himself utterly enthralled by how entirely his dick is swallowed by JP’s hand, how the fingers wrap more than enough around, and how lazily yet quickly JP jacks him off.

Soon enough, Jensen can feel all muscles loosening up, can tell that a rhythm has started and his hips follow it. He ruts forward, and JP rewards him with a wet kiss at the side of his throat and a low murmur encouraging Jensen to do whatever he wants, what feels right and good and unholy. So Jensen rocks forward again and fucks JP’s hand with an unsteady rhythm he can’t keep straight in his foggy head. JP tightens his fist just right for increased friction, and Jensen now knows he’s not even a minute away from blowing his load. JP helps him get there by stroking faster, harder, more erratically as Jensen’s hips lose all hope of rhythm, and then Jensen shoots up and out. Over the mirror. On JP’s hand. Down on the board shorts at his feet.

Jensen moans, wants to cry out in embarrassment, laugh in sweet relief, or even crumble to the ground in a puddle of skin and bones. 

Thankfully, he avoids the latter; JP hugs Jensen closer, tighter, and brings his come-streaked hand up to Jensen’s line of sight. “See that? That’s the good stuff.” JP leans to his hand so Jensen is forced to watch, has to see JP lick his thumb and clear it of Jensen. He sucks at the back of his hand to suck up more come and Jensen’s eyes track every movement of JP’s lips rubbing against wet skin. “How you feel, kid?”

“Gooey,” Jensen says without thought. Then he blushes, even as JP laughs with a deep rumble in his chest vibrating against Jensen’s skin. “But good.”

“Good,” JP echoes. “I always want my customers to leave fully satisfied.”

Jensen is, for sure, but also now feeling exceedingly awkward. Especially when JP leaves a deep, kiss at the back of Jensen’s neck then backs away with a chill covering Jensen’s entire body. 

It seems like it’s all business when JP insists he’ll grab a different pair of shorts for Jensen to take home, says he’ll give Jensen privacy to get dressed, and especially when he swiftly leaves the dressing room to track down the sea green board shorts at the other end of the store. 

When they meet at the counter, Jensen is certain they are far beyond what happened in the dressing room, but he still finds himself wanting to know … “You don’t want … to do … anything … ”

JP smiles, all clear and friendly, like when Jensen first spotted him at the counter. “Do anything about what?”

“About your …” Jensen struggles to say it aloud, even when they’re still completely alone in the store. Sunlight streaks through the front windows and reminds Jensen that it’s the middle of the day at the boardwalk. Life will be as it was just twenty minutes ago when he steps foot outside. This whole thing will be a memory. “Your … bulge.”

The corner of JP’s mouth slinks up and he leans across the counter, just inches from Jensen’s face. “You wanna help me with that later, kid?” A long pause draws out the proposition; Jensen still fails to find the right words for a response. “You can come by later. Make sure those shorts fit just right and all. Maybe try on a coupla different kinds. See what you like. If not, I promise to make the right adjustments.”

“Okay, yeah,” Jensen mumbles, then takes a deep breath to calm his still-rattled nerves. 

“Shop closes at eight.”

Jensen nods, thinking they’re not talking about the same thing anymore. 

Then JP brings a bright blush to Jensen’s cheeks with his parting remark. “I’ll meet ya at the back door. Take care of everything you need.”

JP winks, as if he had to clarify his offer, before they’re interrupted by the bell over the door signaling a new customer.

Jensen grabs the shopping bag JP offers him and stumbles out the door and into the sunlight. He shields his eyes from the bright glare surrounding him. People pass him on the boardwalk, and he wonders if they can see it on his face, know it in his slow walk, what just happened. He has no one to tell about this exciting new experience, yet doesn’t want a soul to know his secret. 

Anxiety rattles his bones, while the memory of being enveloped by JP’s body and coming in the guy’s huge fist chills him out. 

A few passers-by stare at him, and he looks into one co-ed’s eyes to read whatever he can, to figure out if she can tell he’d just come inside that surf shop. If she knows that he’s gay and finally had his first encounter with a man, let alone one that was twice his age. If she knows he wants to do it again, and again, and again, and can’t wait for 8pm to roll around. 

Then he decides _fuck it_ , and dives right into the rest of the day.


End file.
